The Justice Dichotomy
by kreleia
Summary: CHALLENGE: My entry for Sakura123's latest Batman Begins challenge. What does Superman think of Batman's crimefighting methods? Based on Batman Begins and Superman Returns. Please see AN.
1. Chapter 1

**Nov. 15, 2011** - Readers, I have not forgotten about this story. In fact, it plagues me quite a bit. I have the ending written, but _getting there_ is what I've been stuck on for so long. I've tried many times to do just that, and none of it works (at least, not for me). So, my apologies for the "update" to these chapters not being an actual update. I've recently come back to the site, and noticed that some of the previous editing for scene changes had been completely removed. It made these chapters look like a long, random spew of storytelling without any real logic. So, I've corrected that. Thank you for all of your comments, reviews and patience. I desperately hope to finish this story as well as I was able to start it. :)

**A/N:** This story is my submission for Sakura123's latest _Batman __Begins_ challenge. My option for the challenge was to write about how Superman (as portrayed in _Superman __Returns_) would react to Batman's methods. At the moment, this is unfinished, but that should change quickly. I am currently out of town as well, so the final pieces may not be up until after this weekend. My internet access is a little restricted at the moment. :) A few notes before we begin: this story takes place roughly 4 to 5 months after _Superman __Returns_, and about a year-and-a-half after _Batman __Begins_. I'm using the movie release-dates for my time reference, so Batman would have shown up for the first time while Superman was gone. This story is almost entirely set in the movie-verse for these two characters, so keep that in mind if/when you're tempted to compare it to the comicbooks... although I have referenced Frank Miller's _Batman: __Year__One_ graphic novel for some of the details.

This is not a fluff piece. I have purposely kept it dark, since Batman is a dark character and operates that way. There is a little bit of language, and some violence, although none of it is particularly graphic. Please just remember that this was the most appropriate and character-accurate way I could think of to write this. Thanks in advance for understanding. Now, on to part one...

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Batman __Begins_ or _Superman __Returns_ in any way (except for DVDs). :) I can't even afford to have delusions of owning them. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm just having fun playing with the characters.

* * *

**The Justice Dichotomy**

"What… uh… what exactly is going on in Gotham?"

Lois looked up to see her newly reassigned partner holding a printed copy of an article, and an extremely puzzled look on his face. "What _isn__'__t_ going on in Gotham, Clark?" she replied, looking back to her own notes lying scattered around her desk.

"No, I mean…" Clark faltered, sighed, and set the article in front of her. It was from The Gotham Register, dated nearly a year-and-a-half previously, and the picture accompanying the article was of former mob-boss Carmine Falcone strapped ruthlessly to a giant spotlight, his suit-coat hanging from him in shreds. The caption underneath read "Crime boss mysteriously apprehended by unknown source. Witnesses report seeing a giant bat-like figure."

"Oh," Lois answered. "Oh yeah. Well, it's not really news anymore, but I guess you've been out of the loop for a while."

She didn't look up from the article to see Clark's expression flicker from curious to annoyed. "Yeah. Some—something like that," he muttered. "So, uh, fill me in?"

Lois blew out an exasperated sigh, and picked up the article. Clark, who had seated himself on the corner of her desk, fixed her with a curiosity-filled stare and a dash of puppy-dog eyes thrown in for good measure. She decided to humor him for a few minutes. "Well…" she began, thinking through what little she knew or had paid attention to. "Apparently someone in Gotham has decided to become a vigilante for justice… or so the story goes. Apparently he—is that right? He?—well, whoever, dresses up in a black bat costume and gallivants through Gotham at night picking off criminals and would-be rapists." She paused, chewing on the end of her pen while her mind searched for more information.

"Really?" Clark's eyebrows climbed his forehead.

"Yeah. It's actually kind of interesting. Once in a while he brings down someone big, or busts up a drug-ring. But, at first, when this happened," she waved the article for emphasis, "everyone thought that the witnesses were all just stoned out of their minds."

"Because they were bringing in a drug shipment," Clark added.

"Right. But while tests showed that some of them _were_ on drugs, others who were there that night were completely clean. And _all_ of them had corroborating details about this guy. So he kind of became an instant urban legend."

Clark sat silent for a moment, digesting the information Lois had given him. Much of the same had been mentioned in the article, with only a few minor exceptions. "So, then, is he still just an urban legend?" he finally asked.

Lois looked back up from her notes, which she had just started reading through again. "Um… no, actually. Not long after that he brought down some _huge_ crime syndicate there, some photojournalist actually managed to get photos of him. I think the _Planet_ ran a blurb on it."

"Who?"

Lois shifted, clearly becoming annoyed. "I don't remember her name. She's based out of Gotham, but she's one of those free-lancers who has work published all over the place. I'm sure you could find out in the _Planet_ archives… or even by searching the internet for the Batman."

"Uh, Bat… man?" Clark grinned.

Lois smirked in return. "Yeah. Nice, huh? Kind of appropriate for a city named 'Gotham,' I suppose. Now, I hate to cut this short, but I have some research to finish."

"Sure. Thanks," Clark grinned, picking up the article from her desk. He laughed softly to himself as he walked back to his own desk, causing Lois to glance his direction.

She smiled in spite of herself, and shook her head. "Well, stranger things have happened in this crazy world," she muttered softly. "Metropolis has a guy that flies around in blue tights and red boots, for god's sake." She chuckled and shrugged off the thoughts as she refocused on her notes. She zoned back into her research allowing one last fleeting thought to pass through her mind. _I __wonder __if __Superman __knows __about __him._

* * *

"No."

"Alfred…"

"I'm sorry sir, but I will not give another ill-conceived excuse for your lack of appearance. This is one function that I'm quite certain you will survive. And this one doesn't require body armor."

Bruce shot a glare at his long-time friend. "It probably should," he grumbled.

"I highly doubt that anyone will be sporting rapid-fire hypodermic needles at the Cancer Institute benefit," Alfred countered.

"Great," Bruce groaned, rolling his eyes.

"I beg your pardon?"

"If you've thought of that, it means someone else has too," he answered, running a hand roughly through his hair.

Alfred blanched. "Surely you don't think—"

"No," Bruce cut him off. "You're right. Not at the Institute benefit. But it's probably only a matter of time before somebody decides to try lethal acupuncture on the Bat."

Alfred pressed his lips into a thin line. "Which we will deal with at that time, I'm sure. But for now, there is a tuxedo ready in the master bedroom, and I've requested the Quattroporte be made ready."

"It came in?" Bruce lifted an eyebrow in faint interest.

"Just yesterday, sir," the butler answered.

He sighed. "There's no way I'm getting out of this, is there?"

"Not tonight," Alfred proffered a tight grin as he watched the reluctant younger man walk toward the cave's elevator – a much newer and more stable installation than the previous one. "Besides, it never hurts to show your support for hospitals or the Institute. Your father would be proud."

Bruce stopped and glanced back at the man following him, but didn't reply.

* * *

"Bruce Wayne."

Bruce turned at the sound of the female voice behind him, forcing down his annoyance at being distinguished from the drapes next to the window. He'd already made the requisite rounds with the Cancer Institute's founders and the shallow socialites decorating the event, and was using the view from the window to overlook the heart of the city. The niceties were done with, so he was really just biding his time to make it look like he wasn't in a rush to be anywhere else. Which, he wasn't, at the moment. But these events, no matter how good the cause, always made him feel like he should be. Instead, he smiled pleasantly at the simply pretty red-head standing there. "Yes?" he answered.

"Victoria Vale," she held out her hand, and offered a genuine smile in return.

He paused briefly, remembering why he knew her name. "The photojournalist," Bruce finally replied, shaking her offered hand gently.

She blushed slightly. "You know my work?"

"I've followed your war pieces. You've been through some, ah, harrowing ordeals."

The woman, who looked to be about his same age, nodded in agreement. "A few," she answered, closing her eyes for a brief second. Bruce was certain he'd seen a flash of memory in them, but any emotion about those experiences was gone when she reopened them. "Which is why I'm back home for a while," she continued.

"But, ah, didn't you get pictures of that bat… fellow not too long ago?"

She smiled again and looked down, another blush hinting on her cheeks. "That wasn't exactly a war piece," she replied.

"In Gotham? Are you sure?" he quipped lightly.

"Point taken," she laughed.

"Well, welcome back," Bruce nodded.

"Thank you. Actually, I came over to ask if you'd be available for a photo-op with Dr. Grant and the other Institute founders in a little while."

Bruce glanced around the room, and noticed that a few of the known gossipers in the crowd had spotted the two of them talking. "I don't see why not," he agreed.

"Excellent," she smiled again. "Shall we say a half-hour from now?"

"Sounds good."

"Oh, and…" she trailed off, suddenly looking self-conscious. "I'm not sure why I would feel awkward asking you this."

Bruce raised an eyebrow out of genuine curiosity, and waited for her to continue.

"Would you mind if I took some candid photos of you tonight?"

He paused. "Here?"

Victoria tilted her head, smiled, and wrinkled her brow. "Of course." She noted his hesitation at her question, and decided to smooth the tension professionally. "I've actually asked several others here tonight if I might do the same. It would be for a small project I'm considering."

Bruce glanced around again. "Only if I can see the pictures, and have approval over which ones get published… if any."

She looked like she would laugh again, but didn't. "I wouldn't dream of trying to publish them without your approval, Mr. Wayne," she countered. "I know my limits. I also know exactly what I'm worth."

Bruce was taken aback for a moment. "I'm sorry," he started. "I didn't mean to imply—"

"No apology necessary, Mr. Wayne. I understand how important it is to maintain an image."

"Well, then," he shrugged, and shoved his hands into his pockets. "You have my permission."

"Great." Victoria's eyes lit up like he'd just made her entire day, but her facial expression remained professional. "I appreciate it."  
"I'll see you in half-an-hour with Dr. Grant?" Bruce asked, knowing she was dying to get to her camera.

"Yes. See you then."

Bruce watched as she made her way back through the crowd, and then looked pointedly at the gossips whispering and staring in his direction. Every one of them stopped and turned a different direction when his gaze met theirs. He allowed himself a quiet, cynical laugh before turning back to the window, and hoped that the gesture would discourage any would-be arm-candy from approaching him during the next half-hour. The last thing he needed any photojournalist to capture was an insincere smile on his face, combined with dull disinterest in his eyes. That would be disastrous. And would probably win her a Pulitzer. No, best to avoid the arm-candy.

* * *

"Vicky Vale," Lois murmured to herself, as she gazed out over the rooftops of Metropolis. "That was her name." She hugged her arms around herself, despite the trench coat she was wearing. The breeze on the roof of _The __Daily __Planet_ was stiff, and held a mid-autumn chill, but it hadn't prevented her from escaping the office for some fresh air. The evening was late, and Richard had taken Jason home several hours before, leaving her mostly alone in the office. Clark had also called it quits about an hour ago, and had nagged her into a promise that she wouldn't be there for much longer. Which was probably a good thing, since she'd run out of steam shortly thereafter. But she hadn't wanted to leave just yet.

And now here she was.

She leaned her elbows onto the ledge and inhaled the brisk air deeply, willing it to clear her mind of the muddled and noisy thoughts crowding through it. It helped a little, but it was also quiet enough that the thoughts just kept sneaking back. Needing a distraction, she purposely scuffed the soles of her shoes on the cement while she turned around, intending to circle the roof of the building, beneath the iconic globe. But she didn't get far before a blue-and-red figure caught her attention. She looked to her right just in time to see Superman step onto the ledge of the building.

"Hey, Kal," she offered, watching as he paused before gliding down toward her.

"Good evening, Lois," he answered, touching the ground next to her. "Were you headed back inside?"

"Oh. No, not yet," she looked toward the door, and then up at the globe above them. "I was actually just going to walk around the roof before heading home."

Superman nodded. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," Lois shrugged, and started walking. "Something on your mind?"

The tall man next to her smiled briefly to himself as he thought about how to approach the subject he'd pinpointed with her earlier. "Actually, yes."

She looked up at him. "Is this something I can help with? Is it Jason?"

"No, it's not Jason. And… I'm not sure if you can help." Lois stayed quiet as the two of them continued to walk side-by-side close to the outer edge. Clark finally decided to just plunge ahead. "I need to go to Gotham."

Lois' head jerked back at the city's name, and she threw a sharp glance at her companion. "You talked to Clark, didn't you?" she accused.

He suppressed a grin. "I _have_ talked to Clark – I was the one that told him to check out the happenings in Gotham. The Batman is someone I just learned about myself."

"So, you're thinking of going over there and seeing the guy? You actually want to meet him?" she questioned.

"You sound like you don't think it's a good idea."

Lois shrugged, her expression changing to one of blameless innocence. "I don't think anything about the idea." She let out an amused puff of air. "And I'm pretty sure you can take care of yourself, no matter how crazy the guy might be."

Clark let himself laugh a little at her statement. "Well, I hope so," he answered. "I actually wanted to ask you… do you know, or have you heard anything about how to contact this… Batman?"

She thought through the vague details in her head for a moment. "No. I guess he's kind of like you… he's just there when you need him. Well, ideally. Hopefully. Of course, I wouldn't go jumping off a cliff to get his attention, either."

It was Clark's turn to shoot a glance at Lois. "I would hope that you wouldn't do that to get _my_ attention."

Lois laughed. "I get into enough crazy situations without purposely throwing myself off of _anything_." Clark cleared his throat and looked away from her after she'd met his amused gaze. "Don't start, bluebird," she threatened, with more laughter in her voice.

"I didn't say a thing," he protested.

"You thought it."

Clark grinned again, knowing full well that he wasn't about to win this kind of argument with Lois Lane. The woman could argue her way out of a parking ticket… and right back into it just as fast. Not to mention that her "discussions" with Perry White were the stuff of legend around the _Planet_ offices.

"So then, you're saying that I should… what, rob a bank, or something?" he continued, reverting back to the original topic.

Lois stopped mid-stride and gaped at the man who was now a pace in front of her. "You wouldn't."

"No, I wouldn't," he replied. "You know me better than that." He watched as she visibly relaxed in front of him, and resumed walking. "But I'm coming up short of ideas."

"Well, maybe you should just look for him," she offered. "I mean, hell, it's not like you can't hover above the city."

"Gotham is a big place, Lois."

"So is Metropolis."

"But I know Metropolis."

"So?" she shot back at him. "You haven't always known it. You had to start at some point, right? Besides, what about your exceptional hearing?" Lois held up both hands and mimed quotation marks at the word "exceptional." "You know, cries for help, gunshots, fist fights… good grief, Kal, I'm starting to feel like I'm talking to Clark Kent, here."

This time, the laugh escaped him before he had a chance to stop it, and he realized that he had slipped back into his pry-Lois-for-information mindset that he normally reserved for work. The truth was, he knew exactly what it was that he _could_ do to search out the Batman. But given the information that he'd been able to find, which wasn't much beyond urban legend-style fascination, and that the guy had his own spotlight, he wasn't exactly sure how to go about just doing it. The Batman sounded more like a ghost than an actual man.

"Okay. What about this spotlight that the Gotham P.D. supposedly has on their rooftop?"

"Gotham P.D. has a spotlight on their roof?" Lois questioned, confusion etched across her features. "I thought spotlights were for helicopters."

"So did I," Clark agreed. "But apparently they have an event-sized spotlight on their roof that has a stylized bat silhouette bonded to it."

"Are you serious?"

"There's pictures of it on the internet."

"You surf the internet?"

"Lois." He allowed his voice to take on a slightly exasperated tone. "Can we keep this to the current topic, please?"

"Yeah, well, you know more than I do at this point," Lois conceded, once again wrapping her arms around herself as the wind gusted across the roof.

Clark stepped in closer, shielding her a little more from the wind, and adding the aura of his own body-heat to her personal space. She didn't say a word.

"Well, I guess there's nothing to do but try," he finally said, after the two of them had walked in silence across the final length of the building.

"I'm sure you'll find him," Lois assured, turning to face him. "You're Superman."

Clark tilted his head and shot her a look. "But I'm not infallible."

"Then maybe he'll find you," she offered. "Either way, I claim rights to the exclusive. And I want ALL the details."

He chuckled. "You never quit, do you?"

"It's why I'm the best," Lois replied, with a self-satisfied grin. "Now get out of here."

"Yes, dear," Clark dead-panned. Lois rewarded him with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Good night, Lois," he grinned, as he lifted himself beyond the _Planet__'__s_globe.

"Good night, Kal." Lois watched until his brightly-clad figure faded into the night sky, and then pulled herself together before she headed toward the elevator. On the way down, she felt herself grinning like an idiot. The prospect of such an article thrilled her down to her toes. He'd better give her one hell of a story.


	2. Chapter 2

**Nov. 15, 2011** - Format updated. Please see A/N on Chapter 1 for further info.

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't even pretend to own these characters. :) DC and Warner Bros. have all the glory.

* * *

Finally.

The brisk night air moved through his black cape, billowing it out around him as he stood cloaked in shadow. Nothing ever seemed to feel quite as good as getting out into the night and feeling the first surges of adrenaline course through his veins. It was, of course, vital to the battle mindset that was necessary for patrolling the underbelly of Gotham. But it was also freedom - the ability to move without being heard, to watch without being seen. And to fight. To avenge. To protect. This was his element. This was his calling. He felt it in his bones.

Tonight, the high society of Gotham had seen the quieter side of Bruce Wayne. It wasn't often that he abandoned the shallow care-free act of a fully grown boy with too much money to burn. But on the rare occasions that he did, his supposed peers gave him space. An almost respectful distance, but one filled with questioning gazes. On these nights he heard whispers of how much he looked like his mother, and how he held himself like his father. And, with false sympathy in their eyes, the people around him would move out of his way, making it possible for him to escape to a quiet corner or side room, only to reappear when his presence was necessary.

These were also the nights when he struggled to maintain his mindset as Bruce Wayne, rather than Gotham's dark protector. He still hadn't pinpointed why this occasionally happened, but he knew that these were also the nights when he was most vigilant, most successful. The pieces to various puzzles would fall into place, and his timing would be just right. Many a crooked cop or notorious ring-leader had fallen on these nights. He would return home bruised, often bleeding, and exhausted – and his entire countenance would be blazing with triumph.

Yes.

These were the nights. The best nights. And tonight was feeling like it would one of them.

Silently, Batman launched himself from his perch on the city's high-rise court building and glided down to the streets below. He directed himself to one of the forgotten corners of the city, several blocks east of the now-completely destroyed Narrows district. Here, the streets teemed with thugs, drug-dealers and prostitutes. Buildings housed what could barely be called apartments, and more often than not, served as temporary space for meth labs and impromptu brothels. When the Narrows had been destroyed, those who had lost their business corners and crack-houses had moved over here to the east end – an area that was already poverty stricken and overrun with crime. It was now the worst area in the vast metropolis, so much so that the crimes, kidnappings and murders that occurred here weren't even considered news. It was a blight on a city that was notorious for its crime, and was deliberately and emphatically ignored by the rest of Gotham's citizens. It had also become the favorite hunting ground of one giant, man-sized, and particularly vicious bat.

A moment later, Batman had settled himself above a filthy street and began to observe. It usually didn't take long for something to start in this part of town, no matter which street he chose. Then his attention focused sharply.

"Shut up!" came a furious shout from a dimly lit section of sidewalk. The sound of a backhand, followed immediately by a startled cry, punctuated the command. "You owe me too much to be picky, whore!" Several people who had been moving or dealing close by were suddenly nowhere to be found. The two figures stood alone, barely illuminated by the scant light from the windows of the building behind them.

"I don't owe you nuthin'!" came the defiant reply, as a young man straightened himself, but kept a wary distance from the other. "This isn't like what you promised – this is HELL!"

"Damn right it is," the first figure growled. "And you work for the devil now."

Concealed in darkness, Batman watched silently from a decaying rooftop across the narrow street. This was a scenario he'd witnessed countless times before – a naïve runaway lured into selling him or herself, with promises of wealthy clients, silk sheets, and expensive clothing. Most didn't last a week, usually ending up dead or vanishing entirely. Those that did learned to keep their mouths shut and often quickly adopted hardcore drug habits – if they hadn't already had them. Then there were the few, like this one, that for some reason held onto the dream with a suicidal determination that defied every cruel, cold fact in front of them. They believed they would be different, that they would have that fairy-tale ending. And, almost always, they just wanted to go home.

Batman waited.

"Move your ass," the pimp growled. "You have a debt to work off… unless you'd rather pay it now." The cold metallic clicks of a gun being cocked followed the silhouette of the pimp's arm brandishing the weapon, aiming it at the teenager's head.

For an eternal second, the runaway stood, shocked, staring down the barrel of the gun. And in that eternal second, Batman readied himself, grappling gun aimed, body tensed. The pimp, whether sensing something or just from habit, glanced around the seemingly deserted street before focusing his gaze back on the young man. He moved just a few inches closer, never moving the gun, and sneered at the reaction of the other backing away.

"Not so brave now, are ya?"

The grappling gun fired silently, sending a fiber-thin cable across the street to the next rooftop. Batman gave it a habitual tug to make sure it was secure, and then launched himself from a very narrow angle towards the boy.

**BANG!**

The report of the gun was nearly deafening between the shabby buildings, and the teenager howled with pain on the upswing of Batman's arc. He vaguely hoped that was a good sign – it usually meant that the bullet hadn't hit anything vital, and had either grazed, or left a very shallow wound. Timing like that was always risky, but it gave him the clear advantage, since the perpetrator would have no idea he was coming.

Mounting a questionably sturdy balcony on the dark side of another building, Batman deposited the young man roughly.

"Stay here. Keep quiet," he ordered.

"Are you coming back?" the boy asked, painfully clutching the outside of his right thigh.

Batman glared at him for an answer, and dropped over the balcony's edge to the alleyway below. Silently, he moved through the shadows, pausing once to pinpoint the pimp who, strangely enough, wasn't running for his life, but was instead scanning the airspace around him and holding the gun ready. _He __must __be __new, __too,_ Batman observed. _The __rest __know __better __by __now._

With stealth and speed, he closed the distance between them, using the last few feet to spread his cloak and glide forward, grabbing the pimp from behind. One arm came under the man's left shoulder, and up around to the back of his neck, where he applied only the slightest pressure as a warning. The other hand wrenched the man's right hand back behind him and up, forcing him to drop the gun. The pimp bent forward in pain and surprise.

"What the hell!" he gasped.

"I don't hire pimps," Batman growled, jerking the man back towards him, and sending a fresh jolt of pain through the thin body.

"What?" he asked, panic flooding his brain.

Batman slipped his arm out from behind the pimp's neck and spun him around, never completely letting go. He heard several pops come from the man's wrist, and a terrified gasp from his mouth as the perp finally got a look at his assailant.

"What the fuck!" he screamed, automatically trying to step back.

Batman jerked him forward again, so that he was looking down into the terrified eyes of this pitiful bully. He knew his own eyes were blazing with fury. "I'm the devil," he answered, suddenly releasing the man's wrist and stepping back. And before the other could register that he was free, he delivered his own punishing backhand across the man's jaw and temple, rendering him unconscious.

The pimp crumpled to the ground.

Making a quick about-face, Batman started to stride back towards the building where he'd left the injured teenager, hoping that his advice had been followed and that the kid was still there. He pulled his small cell-phone from his belt and pressed the two keys that would speed-dial Lieutenant Gordon. He waited for two rings.

"Gordon," came the familiar greeting.

"I have two for pickup," he rasped into the phone.

"Where are they?" Gordon asked, long familiar with Batman's methods by this point.

"The badlands. Goodwin Avenue."

Gordon cursed under his breath. "You sure know how to pick 'em," he replied.

"One's unconscious, possibly wounded. The other," he glanced up at the balcony overlooking the narrow alleyway, and was relieved to see the boy still there. "Conscious and scared. Possible runaway, wounded on his right leg. He's on a balcony in a south-side alley." He listened for a moment as the Lieutenant radioed the details into dispatch.

"I have a team in the area, they're on their way now," came the report.

He ended the call silently, and deep down, Bruce Wayne sighed with relief. But the Batman aimed his grappling gun toward the rooftops once again, all stoicism and business. Crime never waited for him to catch his breath.

* * *

High above, floating through the city's updrafts, Superman watched in shocked curiosity. The actions and methods of this so-called Batman were cruel and cold… and effective. A small part of him held a grudging respect for the cloaked and cowled man, but the rest of him silently howled in protest as he watched the pimp fall, unconscious, to the ground. He knew that Gotham was rotten to the core, and he knew that the police force was severely understaffed. While he'd been researching the Batman earlier, he'd read about the District Attorney's purge of the extremely corrupted force, and it seemed that only the smallest trickle of people had lined up for "Gotham's finest" since then. But this kind of justice wasn't justice. This was personal. This was _vengeance_… and the Batman was taking it out on the seedy underworld of Gotham.

Superman watched as the dark figure moved from the first scene to another block, not far from the night's first save – if it could be called that – and positioned himself accordingly. He was intent on getting a good look at this man's methods before approaching him… or offering a respite for the criminals themselves. He'd not actually read any reports about the Batman killing someone, but they almost always came away injured from the confrontation – sometimes seriously, sometimes not, but never fatally. It was a strange way for the man to show a conscience. _If __it __can __be __called __a __conscience,_ Superman thought, ruefully.

Sounds of someone being pummeled brought his attention back to the scene below him, and he watched as the latest criminal – _victim?_ – tried desperately to hold his own against the black-enshrouded vigilante. The two were scuffling in another very dark, very narrow alley. The criminal somehow managed to connect with the Batman's jaw, causing his head to jerk upwards. But in the next several seconds, the other moved at an almost inhuman speed, and the man was quickly downed, falling unconscious to the ground.

The Batman stepped over the man purposefully and began checking through his pockets. Superman noted that he didn't actually take anything, but a small pile of defensive weapons found on the unconscious person stacked up next to him – mostly knives and one gun. Batman must have caught him off guard, or else the gun would have been fired, or at least brandished during the scuffle. Still, the weapons apparently didn't interest him, as he continued to search. Finally, he pulled a cell-phone from somewhere on the body and flipped it open. He punched two or three buttons, and seemingly satisfied, concealed the phone somewhere on his person.

_Information__… __that __HAS __to __be __what __he__'__s __looking __for,_ Superman thought. But he didn't have time to pursue the idea. A large shadow of movement caught his peripheral vision, and as he focused, it broke apart into several figures, and then amassed back together. _Oh __no. __He__'__s __about __to __be __jumped __by __a __full-on __gang. __And __that __doesn__'__t __look __like __any __ordinary __street __gang._

With worried anticipation, he watched the figures moving toward the alley opening. None of them moved with the false cocky self-assuredness that he'd seen most gang members possess – no, these men moved with stealth and quiet that belied their skill. These men were trained fighters, probably mercenaries for whichever mob-boss or drug-lord was feeling threatened by the Batman's presence; which also meant that the first man lying in the alley had been a plant. These men had known he would be around – if not tonight, then at some point – and they were fully prepared. Superman felt his body tense, ready to speed down and intervene. There simply wasn't any conceivable way that the Batman could defend himself against such a crowd. And vigilante or not, no one deserved that kind of beating. Silently, he dropped several hundred feet to the surrounding buildings, making sure to keep out of sight, and alighted on one of the rooftops directly across from the alley.

_Not __usually __my __style,_ he grimaced to himself, _but __I __need __to __know __exactly __what __we__'__re __dealing __with, __here._

The Batman suddenly looked toward the mouth of the alley and straightened. Something had tipped him off to the gang's presence before he could actually see them, and he instinctively reached for his belt. Beneath him, the first man groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. It drew his attention for only a second, but the group was already there, and that was all the time they needed. The Batman looked up to find himself thoroughly cornered, with several of the men moving to surround him. Superman focused his hearing, expecting the racing heartbeat of someone panicking, but instead…

_Did __his __heart beat __actually __just __slow __down?_ The change was minute, but it was definitely slower – like the man knew he was in complete control of the impossible situation. The Batman crouched into a defensive stance, and Superman felt his mouth drop open slightly. _This __guy __is __insane._

For the next several seconds, he watched as the group finished surrounding the dark figure. Many were brandishing weapons, and quite a few were guns. Others had knives pulled, and one or two were actually wielding nightsticks. Still the Batman maintained his defensive stance, twisting to take inventory of exactly where everyone stood.

Then they jumped.

Superman launched himself from the rooftop at super-speed intending to take out the gunmen first. At the same time, one of the guns was fired. The suit covering the Batman indented as the bullet hammered into its surface, right at the tail-tip of the bat-symbol on his chest. But the suit bounced back, pushing the bullet back out into the foray. _Heavy-duty __Kevlar, __combined __with __something __else,_ the thought barely registered as he swept down.

And then the Batman began to move. For the next several heartbeats, Superman froze in mid-air watching the deadly grace of the masked man, who was thoroughly in his element. Guns and knives clattered to the ground, and the men immediately surrounding him began to fall – some doubling over from a kick to the abdomen, others twisting back from the force of an elbow or fist making contact with their face. His fighting style had the fluidity and grace of martial arts, but there was something decidedly more raw and brutal to the moves. Bones snapped like toothpicks when he made contact with a limb or joint, mouths exploded with blood from bludgeoned teeth and broken jaws. A few of the men downed from abdominal kicks contorted in more pain as their stomachs forced up their last meal. And yet the rest continued to press inward, forcing their numbers onto the lone figure, closing in when one man fell, packing the circle tighter. More targets, more danger, one man.

_No, __two __men._ Superman pounded his landing into the road behind the mob, adding another crater to the crumbling pavement. Several thugs on the outer edge turned as the ground shuddered beneath them, muttering expletives as they recognized the crest emblazoned across his chest. Immediately they scattered, leaving the still-throbbing, still-focused core that was continuing to press the Batman. Either they hadn't noticed his impact, or they didn't care – their adrenaline was obviously feeding off of their combined blood-lust.

_Outer __edge __first,_ came the detached thought, as he scanned the area quickly for some kind of possible restraint. He zeroed in on a coil of discarded, thick power-line a half-block away, and stepped into super-speed for the second time. In groups of two and three, Superman disarmed and collected the first layer of thugs, wrapping them together, starting from the first two and spiraling outward. Ten men found themselves blinking in confusion a few seconds later, and struggling against the wrist-thick cable that bound them into a tight and uncomfortable group. Cursing and shouting began in earnest as they realized what had happened, if not exactly how.

A few seconds later, a second group was standing several meters from the first, followed by a third with only half as many men. The rest were disarmed and mostly unconscious in the alley, with the Batman standing in the center of damaged humanity. Superman walked back to the mouth of the alley, surveying the damage, and looked directly at the man standing there, assessing whether or not he was injured. A quick glance with his deep vision showed an intact skeletal system, but he would have some nasty bruises – especially at the bottom edge of his sternum, where the bullet had bounced off of his body-armor. Out of respect, he kept his gaze from the Batman's face – something he knew Lois would have a fit about later. But this man obviously wanted his identity concealed, and Superman had the most innate understanding as to why.

"You'll be bruised," he offered, when the man in black said nothing. Instead of a response, the Batman glowered at him from the shadows. Superman waited a few more heartbeats before trying again. "How would you like to deal with these men?" He gestured beyond the alley toward the groups standing there, murmuring, cursing and arguing with each other. Again, the Batman said nothing, but reached for his belt. A quiet _pop_ later, he ascended toward the rooftops, his black cloak fluttering softly around him. Superman watched, confused, then followed.


End file.
